I'll bandage your wounds
by reerites
Summary: ..."I get it, you choose him." She was broken; if he had betrayed Harry by walking out on them, it was nothing compared to what he’d done to her by accusing her of ‘choosing’ Harry over him. Now was when he had to be there for her, and he would...


Its been a long, long while... Am experiencing slight writers block for my long story, so I came up with this :) Hope you like it.

7th book, Harry x Hermione. I never did like 'Mione' as a nick. Or 'Hermy' for that matter. 0.0

Anyway, read on....

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**I'll bandage your wounds**

She was crying again.

She never uttered a sound while she cried- but for the faintest ripple that ran down her spine after every few moments, no one would ever guess. But _he _knew. It was dark, pitch dark outside- without his glasses on he could barely make out her outline huddled at the entrance of their tent- but by now she was as familiar to him as a part of his own physical self. Living together, facing danger together and emerging from it having only each other had made all his senses attuned to her emotions.

As their days and nights grew progressively entangled and blurry away from everything they knew and loved, their quest always seemed miles from the horizon- for her, he knew Ron's departure was the last straw.

She was broken; if he had betrayed Harry by walking out on them, it was nothing compared to what he'd done to her by accusing her of 'choosing' Harry over him.

'_I get it. You choose him.'_

Those thoughtless, cutting words would turn over and over in his mind every single night, while his best friend crumbled before his eyes over someone he only thought he knew. He was riddled with guilt- mostly at himself- for being that constant 'barrier' between his best friends. The third wheel. No matter how much either of them denied it to him; that was what he was.

His insides seared with resentment and a fiery emotion resembling hatred that scared him- hatred towards Ron, for his betrayal. Hatred towards himself for trusting and naively believing that this insane quest would not take its toll on either of his friends.

But he was filled mostly with bitterness at his (ex) friend– how the fuck could Ron ever think that she chose him?

Was he really that fucking retarded? She would _never_ choose him over Ron. That was the crushing truth which he was forced to admit to himself in his heart of hearts- neither of the two people he cherished most in this life would ever choose him over each other.

It was, he knew, only a matter of time before she cracked. Before she wanted out. Before she chose Him.

It was agonizing for him to pretend to be sleeping, to pretend to be blind to her pain and yet know that he felt it almost as deeply as she did.

They had grown incredibly close over the past few weeks- each being the only solid support system for the other- he knew she was there to egg him on, to get him to that next breakthrough, to let him know that all was not lost and give him a reason to continue with this grueling routine.

Even now he knew she was trying her best to forget and move on. To pick up the pieces and focus on getting them both back on track, with their sanity intact. But she was genuinely weak this time. Emotionally. He had to be her sounding board now. It was just that sometimes when they would catch each others eye, he would find himself feeling so intense that it scared him.

She was sitting with her back towards him. He almost dreaded walking up to her.

Nevertheless, he would be there. He'd be there like she always was.

How many times had it happened..?

She'd scrub the tears away with the back of her hand- never one to cry in front of someone else, no matter how close they were. Then she'd look down, away from him and at some book she always pretended to be reading, and he'd see her shoulders heave slightly though she'd make no sound. He'd feel terrible then- he'd feel almost like he'd love to run a knife through that traitorous bastard, and then he'd hate himself for thinking about Ron like that.

They always ended the same way- every night- he'd wrap her up in his arms, let his own pain and misery seep into her warmth, hold her close, reassuring himself perhaps more than he did her. The feelings would build up inside him with such intensity when he felt her head on his chest- he scared himself; part of him would burn at her touch and yearn to just be alone, but the larger part wanted her, needed her. She never pulled away from him; they would lie like that for hours at a stretch sometimes, the silence ensconcing them like a comfortable cradle- and then they would hear the occasional rustle outside and either one would jump up to check for intruders and the moment was forgotten.

But he knew that after Ron left, it was only those moments between them, the silent strength they gave each other, that kept them- kept _him_- moving forward from day to dreary day.

The trouble was that this time it was different. This time he knew it wasn't Ron. He could see in the murky darkness that she caressed his wand, murmuring spells under her breath to no avail. It was broken. Gone. He had accepted it, if not after much lamenting. But he knew her too well not to know that she blamed herself for the accident. She had been amazing that evening- it was only because of her that they'd got away alive. But more often than not, especially ever since Ron left, he knew she had the strong tendency of always seeing the glass as half empty. One of Harry's most precious treasures was severed beyond repair, and it was _her fault. _

God, he had to stop making her see it that way.

'Harry…' she'd heard him coming up to her. He made a mental note to throw away those damned noisy wafer packets in the future.

'I tried my best with a _repairo_ charm…hopefully it'll help a bit. Want to try?'

_Determined_. Wasn't that something that described her well enough. He bit back a tiny smile at her dogged perseverance; it was endearing to say the least, and he was not supposed to be getting endeared.

'Um…Hermione…I don't think-' Her shoulders sagged as he spoke and he felt her about to sink back into a dejected stupor.

'On second thought, give it here, I'll try.' He took it, wincing slightly at the mere sliver of wood that was holding both sides together. It was worth trying, for her sake.

'Um…' He jerked his head around the tent for a moment. '_Accio_ broomstick.'

Nothing happened for a moment.

The tip of the wand suddenly burst into flames and he flung it to the ground in a trice, jumping out of the way. Luckily the flames extinguished themselves before the wand hit the floor, now in too many pieces to count.

A hand on his heaving chest, he looked at her; hoping to eternity that she would not burst into tears. She was standing near the entrance in the same spot she'd been before, her eyes wide with surprise. Her hair somehow looked impossibly bushy, and suddenly the whole scene- the charred wand upon the floor, the expression she had on right then and the way her hair stuck out on all sides of her head seemed hugely comical- he tried his best to control himself, but he couldn't help it, an enormous peel of laughter came bursting through him and soon he was throwing his head back and laughing heartily.

She simply stared.

'God, Hermione-!' He was still giggling madly like a silly school girl, to humor that seemed completely lost on the brunette. 'You should repair things like that more often…damn, that there scared me more than old Fenrir ever could!'

He caught himself just in time. A dangerous glint had crept into her eye.

_This could be the part where she throws the tantrum of a lifetime and walks out on me,, he thought to himself. _

He was wrong.

She chuckled softly, much to his huge surprise and relief. 'Oh, Harry…I tried…I'm so sorry…'

All trace of laughter vanished from his face in a trice at her words.

He came up to her, ignoring her slightly startled expression.

'Don't you _dare_ apologize to me for any fucking thing…' he tilted her chin up to face him, and looked into those ever beautiful chocolate brown depths. 'I'm here right now, living, breathing, because of you, Hermione Granger. You don't owe me, or anyone else on this planet an apology…' His voice was thick, raspy almost and came out more forcefully than he'd intended. He felt her chin quiver beneath his fingers. Her lips were slightly parted and she gazed back at him wordlessly. A surge of emotions coursed through him as their eyes connected- he wished to heaven that they were anyone else, anywhere but where they were right then, just the two of them, and this terrible wonderful yet suffocating atmosphere.

'You're beautiful…' He swallowed a gigantic lump down his throat- he couldn't bring himself to look at her once more. Letting her chin drop, he moved blindly almost, to the tent entrance, groping for the flap with one hand while violently running the other through his hair. God, why couldn't that bastard choke his ego down and return, instead of staying away and compounding his, Harry's, misery…he couldn't be here with her, like this…It was wrong, it was horrid, it was surreal and amazing and oppressive, and it couldn't continue.

He wanted Ginny. The need to see her and kiss her right then was overwhelming and all consuming…

He felt a hand tentatively touch his own…he imagined himself back in the burrow, he imagined it was Ginny, but of course it wasn't.

'Harry…' He turned around, his eyes resting for a second on her face, before dropping to the ground.

_Not now, not ever… don't look at her… _

'Please, let me hear that again, please…say it once more for me…' Her voice was barely a whisper- _Jesus, why was she pleading?_ Ron didn't deserve her…Ron was no fucking one…

She was the one who tilted his chin to face her this time. He tried to block out every emotion that wracked his body at the sight of that face…his own cheeks seemed to be on fire like his insides.

'You're…' he begun brokenly, but never finished. He felt her push up against him in the slightest, felt lips that he would have never in a thousand lifetimes guessed he'd want so desperately… the girl who was there with him, every fucking step of the way…

She was so impossibly soft… touching her, weaving his fingers through her beautiful beautiful familiar sweet hair, felt like he was suddenly back somewhere he knew. Somewhere he'd searched for for so long…somewhere beyond Ginny, beyond everyone else…She fisted the front of his robes, pulling him closer to her, needing him, wanting him, taking him in…the moment was surreal, his insides were aflame, he never wanted to stop…but suddenly, all too soon, he found himself back in the biting cold, the faintest taste of her on his lips.

Her eyes were closed, her breaths shallow. She continued to fist his robes, but now she was pushing him away more than towards her.

'You need to sleep…I'll- I'll keep watch…'

She turned away. Reality hit him sickeningly. Of course that was just one single golden moment. How bloody naive he had been to think it would stretch on and on... of _course_ it would be erased from her memory and have no impact whatsoever on their friendship, and if he was any kind of friend to her, he should erase it from his too... _Just fucking obliviate.._.

He crawled into bed; the pain from injuries inflicted on him hours earlier by the serpent seemed to compound themselves as he shifted his body into a more comfortable position. He couldn't keep his eyes open, though that horrible constricting feeling in his chest had not left ever since they had broken apart…He bunched the blanket around his face; he, unlike her, could not manage to cry soundlessly. He felt the wetness of his tears seep onto the fabric as sleep gradually claimed him…

Hours later, his eyes fluttered open when he felt a stirring beside him. He moved his hand at his side and was shocked to find another warm hand wrapped around his stomach. Her arm was underneath his shirt…god, his skin tingled when he realized.

In her other hand was a tiny bottle of medicine. Muggle medicine; an ointment of some kind. He could feel it on his arms…slowly, so slowly, he intertwined their fingers, knowing he would never be this close to her again.

'Harry…' her voice was so soft, she might have not spoken, but he knew she had. His heart skipped a beat, even as she did not untwine their fingers. 'Magic can't really heal all wounds…'

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The next day, the very next day, he returned back to them like a prodigal 'son'. He might have been a coward for running out on them, but as far as Harry was concerned, he'd canceled out most of his wrong doings out by showing a different side of him- a valiance that Ron himself perhaps doubted that he possessed- near the frosty lake... but then he didn't, and never would, have the heart to tell him that what they both witnessed of the twisted forms rising out of the horcrux was not entirely a lie.

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Please, please review! It'll make my day. :D


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